Who Am I?
by Ranger's Scop
Summary: It hurts. Remembering is torture itself. Is he the Winter Soldier or Bucky? Rated T to be safe. Please R&R! This is a sequel to Brainwashing Bucky, but it is not essential to read BB before this fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Marvel...yet...

* * *

All he wanted to do was to slip back into relieving the cold of cryostasis, to forget everything that had happened to him. But he couldn't go back there...back to Hydra. So he ignored the urge to return to the base and ran, using his experience in chasing past missions to avoid his pursuers. He didn't care where he ended up as long as he kept out of sight, away from Hydra.

Memories, in broken fragments, came back with frightening speed as the days whooshed by. Every time one came back, pain ripped his head apart, piercing his skull with white hot bolts of lightning. Each memory left in its wake a shattered bit of wall where he had slammed his metal fist into it, or a torn apart car where his agony had vented itself, or scars on the pavement where his mechanical fingers had dug into the pavement. The memories that hurt the most were the ones from that far away time...when he had had a name, besides asset, fist, weapon, tool, Winter Soldier. Yes, he had had a name, a real one...What had the man on the ship said?...Bucky.

Pain washed over him and he slammed into the side of a building, taking out a large hole in a garage door. Sinking to the floor, he clutched his pounding head with both hands and rocked back and forth, trying to eliminate the agony. Taking a shuddering breath, he glanced around him, surveying the abandoned shelter he had stumbled into. Brown walls that were stained with graffiti, broken white doors, broken glass windows, and water dripping from cracked pipes up above. The floors were decorated with fractured pieces of the glass, shattered beer bottles, dilapidated furniture, and railroad ties dotted with mushrooms.

Shaking, he stood up and kicked at a rock. This would be a good place to lay low for a few days; Hydra wouldn't find him here. Picking up a tattered sheet, he found a place, hidden from sight on a stuffingless couch, and fell asleep.

At first there were no dreams -for that he was thankful - but then there was a swirling darkness dripping with blood and…

He bolted upright screaming.

* * *

So maybe reviews? Even if they are short...geez...even if they are flames...had to post this before Civil War because I'm sure we have different views!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who follow and favorite this story! RS

* * *

"Hey Cap," Sam called as he peeked inside the gym. "Got some news you might want to hear."

Steve let out an even breath as he lowered the 600 pound weights to their hook above his head, then jumed up in one balanced move. Wiping the sweat from his forehead and taking a swig of water, Captain America crossed the gym floor.

"Please tell me Stark decided to let me go back to an apartment and leave his furnished suite," Steve panted, taking another drink.

"Nope," Sam sighed. "I'm not even sure if you would call this good or bad news...Guess it's a little of both."

"What?"

"Here, read this."

Steve took the file that Falcon offered him and flipped it open, catching his breath as he glanced at the first page. Skimming through the next three pages, which consisted of mostly pictures, Steve slammed the file shut.

"So he's in Old Marty's Warehouse," Steve bit his lip. "One of our favorite haunts as kids. Used to tell ghost stories about the house across the street from it. I think there's something pulling him back there."

"What, like a homing device?" Sam queried, rubbing his chin.

"Sort of," Steve murmured, "I think the Winter Soldier is starting to realize who he really is."

"Well I have the gear all ready," Sam stated. "Luckily Stark is finished, so I have some wings for this trip. When do we leave?"

"As soon as Natasha is ready," Steve stated, grabbing his gym bag. "Lets get ready in the meantime."

* * *

He huddled in a corner, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, pulling them closer for comfort. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. The name did not hurt so much now that he could remember it fully, though it was just a name for now. He had a full name.

Bucky clenched his teeth and his head started to pound, wishing he had never even thought about his full name. Shaking, he bolted into a standing position as sirens screeched outside. Instinctively, he grasped a broken table leg and slid out of sight, glancing curiously through a crack to see several police squad cars surrounding the building. Sighing, Bucky fought the urge to burst out, overwhelm the officers, and start running again. Why was he fighting an urge that he had followed for so long? Yet something deep inside told him to stay put, that help was coming. Watching the police set up blockades and come out from behind their cars with shields for long enough, Bucky retreated to a safe dark corner.

"I'm waiting for you," he whispered, not knowing who he spoke to.

The words awakened something in him...something that did not hurt...it was, hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**I saw Civil War! So awesome...has to be the Best Marvel Movie! So what do you guys who have seen the movie think...did team Iron Man or TEAM CAPTAIN AMERICA win? I am totally unbiased over here...leave a review?**

* * *

Steve glanced out the window of Natasha's latest Avengers Complimentary Car as New York streamed by. Sam had called dibs on the front seat, so Steve sat in the back fingering his shield. Natasha touched on the brakes as the stoplight changed to red.

"So cops have a blockade around him?" she asked rhetorically. "Not a good idea."

"Yet the man's still there," Sam pointed out. "I've seen that guy take on more than the number of cops they have posted there, and get away. Something tells me he doesn't want to run this time. Cap?"

"You're right, Sam," Steve sighed. "Maybe the Winter Soldier is losing its grip on Bucky. I think I can get rid of it for good."

"How are you planning on doing that, Cap?" Natasha queried.

"I'll talk to him," Steve answered quietly.

"What if he doesn't listen?" Natasha pressed.

"I'll talk louder," Steve replied.

The three lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. Up ahead a very old and decaying building leaned heavily against its foundations. Sirens squealed above police cars that formed a semicircle around the warehouse's only entrance and exit point. Sam let out a exasperated sigh and Natasha looked unimpressed.

"He was right, Cap," she commented dryly. "The Winter Soldier could have broken through this blockade in a matter of minutes. Something must be keeping him here."

Steve nodded, "Sam, I don't need Falcon yet, but if you could stick close, I'd appreciate it. Natasha, thanks for dropping us off."

"Sorry that I couldn't stay for the party, Cap." Natasha shrugged. "But there is a new lead on our missing bird, and you gave me time off to pursue it."

"Have fun," Sam called, as she zoomed off.

"Let's get to work," Steve smiled, locking his shield behind his back.

Bucky froze as footsteps echoed against the hard floors and ceilings of his refuge. Grasping at anything he could think of as some sort of weapon, he rose slowly, searching the darkness with trained eyes. A figure walked through the opening Bucky had torn through the dilapidated door.

"Bucky, are you in here?" a somewhat familiar voice called, reverberating off of the battered walls.

Scowling, Bucky pressed against the wall, still clutching at a piece of termite-eaten wooden table leg. He would remain in the shadows until his Mission left him alone. The Mission was almost as annoying as Hydra in following him, but not as dangerous. Another figure walked in and he and the Mission exchanged a few words, before the stranger left. The Mission walked into a patch of sunlight, setting himself in plain sight of Bucky.

"Look, I know you're here, Bucky," Steve sighed. "I want you to know I'm not here to hurt you or bring you back to whatever Hydra put you through all these years."

Bucky watched as the Mission unbuckled his shield and involuntarily flinched, pressing harder against the plastered walls. To his surprise, the Mission dropped the shield on the floor in plain sight. Curious, Bucky relaxed a little, but didn't relinquish his grip on the rotted weapon.

"I know you're scared," Steve said, walking away from the light, searching through the shadowed corners for his one-time best friend. "But I want to help you, because that is what good friends are for."

Bucky grimaced as a spasm of pain shot through his head at the word 'friends' and the table leg crumbled as his iron fist contracted. The noise, however slight, had attracted the Mission and he turned and drew closer to the sound.

"Bucky, I am your friend, you are safe with me," Steve continued, following the sound. "It's me, Steve."

The table leg splintered into soft shrapnel as it was hurled across the room. Taking a deep breath in order not to cry out loud, Bucky hissed as the words caused fresh irritation. His brain was rejecting the large amount of knowledge it had accumulated over the months of running. Never before had he been allowed to attain so much information, and the strain of new memories over stimulated his neurons.

Steve jumped backwards as the mysterious object flew past his face and hit the wall to his right. Following the path of the object, he saw a glint of metal and a struggled breathing met his ears.

"Bucky?" he queried, stepping closer to a shadowed pile of random items stacked against a broken wall.

"Stop!" came the exasperated voice that belonged only to Bucky.

Steve stopped, but he didn't keep quiet. "Can we talk from here?"

Bucky snarled and sank into a defensive position. "No," he whispered. "It hurts too much."

These hushed words failed to pass unheard by Steve's ears. Slowly, he sat down assuming a non-threatening position.

"Sometimes talking heals the hurt," he said quietly.

"Het, he для mеня," Bucky whispered. [No, not for me]

Confused, Steve bit his lip before continuing, "Remember the stories you used to tell me up here? When my asthma wasn't bothering me so that I could make it up here."

Bucky staggered to his feet, nearly doubling over. How he wished he could remember! But all his distraught brain could do was cause waves of pain and a blurry image. Clasping his head between his hands he roared like an outraged bear in jumbled Russian.

Steve stepped forward, his face filled with concern, a hand half extended in a sign of his longing to help.

"Bucky…"

Steve found himself flying into the wall behind him, Bucky grasping his shoulders and shaking him violently.

"Stop!" Bucky screamed at The Mission. "It hurts!"

Trying not to grimace with pain, Steve looked Bucky in the eyes, not saying a word but speaking volumes with his blue depths. Bucky stared defiantly back, but lowered his gaze as he had been taught to in Hydra. Some habits were too hard to break.

"Talk," he said, brokenly.

"Not if it hurts you," Steve whispered. "Would you like something to eat first?"

Bucky glared at the Mission, but nodded ever so slightly as he released his hold and stepped back into the shadows. Nursing his aching head, Bucky watched as the Mission walked over to the side close to a broken window.

Steve speed dialed the number on the screen of his SI-Phone another of SHIELD's useful mandatory items.

"Hello? Sam...Listen, you aren't needed….No, he isn't holding me hostage! Sam, you need to listen….Good. Can you run over to a local restaurant and order us...Yes us….A burger and fries?...Iced Tea is great...I'm fine Sam, honest! Thanks. Bye."

Steve hung up shaking his head good naturedly and turned back to Bucky. Slowly, he walked over and sat down near, but not to close, Bucky.

"Food's on the way," he smiled at his friend. "Hope you like Little Johnny's Burgers."


End file.
